Let Me Be Your Hero
by sifofwar
Summary: No matter who her heart belongs to, Loki will always have an influence in the life of Sif.
1. Brandr

Kneeling in the wet sand, Brandr picked up the small, abandoned infant, and clutched it to his chest. Nine months he had waited to meet his daughter, and she finally came - alone. Green eyes searching the foam, he came to resolution that the woman he waited for, Jarnsaxa, was never going to come. He had assumed as much the day she told him she was pregnant; She and her other eight sisters were the brides of Odin, and the mothers of Heimdall. 'Maidens of the Sea' they were called, and their beauty, while rarely observed by the typical Asgardian, proved to be deadly. They were the daughters of Aegir and Ran, and did not hesitate to allure foolish men to their death. Why Brandr was different, he did not know.

Brandr was nothing but a blacksmith, a poor blacksmith, one who could not afford to raise the child himself. Slowly, he stood himself up, eyes glazing over as he turned away from the sea and towards the moonlit city. Asgard had a warm, golden demeanor, but on this night, it was cold. At least for the new young father. Finally bringing himself to look down at the bundle in his arms, he gasped. Bright blue eyes stared straight up at him, from a soft round face, already graced by soft blonde fuzz. Brandr chuckled, his cheeks soaked from the moisture of his tears, both happy and sad. No, he could not raise the child himself. Besides, what if she grew to be like her mother? A seductress, a cold...creature? Bitterness planted itself in his stomach, and he grew contempt at the thought of the injustice brought upon him. Thinking, he looked to him home for the answer - contemplating the quiet rooftops, the sky full of constellations and Realms he would never see, the Bifrost he would nev-

The Bifrost.

Heimdall.

Looking again at his child, he wrapped her maroon swaddling blanket tighter around her, and made his way towards Himinbjorg, the hall of Heimdall.

He would watch his daughter become a woman with the Gods, and she would never know of the shameful union that brought her into this Realm.


	2. Proud

"No! I will not leave you." Tiny arms wrapped around Heimdalls' leg in a futile attempt to convince her old brother. Blue eyes as deep as the sea brimmed with tears. "I will good, I promise."

"It is not a matter of being good, Sif. This is for your well-being," he sighed, looking down at her. Even though she had stayed with him many years, she was but a toddler. Long, curly blonde hair the shade of wheat fell to her waist, softly framing her frame, darkened by the hours spent exploring around their home.

Gently prying her arms away from him, he knelt down, placing large hands on small shoulders, "You cannot stay in Himinbjorg with me forever."

Heimdall's hall, where the two had lived up until this point, was about as far from the city as one could get without traveling to another Realm. It was what connected the Bifrost, the bridge between realms, to the sky. Not only was it dangerous to little Sif, but Heimdall was rarely there, instead guarding Asgard. He had placed a large telescope in the window of Sif's room, so she could look at the skies from there. It was never used for that; always she looked upon the Bifrost where her brother was, afraid to admit she was lonely.

"Here in Asgard, you can learn, and make friends, and have the proper upbringing." Sniffling, Sif wiped way the tears from her face with her forearm. She was afraid.

Heimdalls' heart wrung. He was no father, and more importantly, he could not take the place of a mother. He loved Sif, but knew living with him was no good for her. Already Heimdall could see that she was special, and that this was what was best for her.

"I will," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "never abandon you, sister. I have the Allsight, remember?" Smiling, Sif nodded. "Even when you feel alone, you can rest assured that I will be able to see you."

"Where she will be going, I doubt she will ever have a moment alone," A soft voice chimed from the doorway. Brother and sister spun to face the visitor. Immediately Heimdall placed a fist over his heart and bent to one knee, motioning for Sif to do the same. Hesitantly she did, in complete awe of the woman before her.

It was Frigga, Queen of Asgard. A warm smile graced her lips as she stepped forward, chuckling at the kneeling figure openly staring at her.

"Who are you?" Sif asked bluntly. She had never seen a woman so...regal as this one. The Queen had stacked strawberry blonde braids pinned on her head, the perfect accompaniment to the dazzling crown she sported. A diamond-encrusted teal gown graced a soft maternal figure, trailing behind her.

"I," Frigg began, "am going to be looking after you, making sure you are properly cared for."

"Everyone keeps saying that, but yet I feel perfectly fine."

"Would you not like children your age to play with? To accompany you on your many adventures?"

Sif's eyebrows knitted together as she squinted at the lady, "How-"

"Nevermind that, dear." Frigga turned to Heimdall, "I'll be waiting in the carriage. Servants will come and get her things, and then she can join me." And with that, she swiftly turned and disappeared out of the doorway.

Without a word, Heimdall scooped up the petite girl. "You will be safe, and happy," He said softly, seemingly reassuring himself. All around her, uniformly-dressed men and women came and carried away the boxes of her things, while Sif watched over her brothers' shoulder, choking back tears.

Carrying her down the stairs and to the front doorway, he sat her down and a grave look came over his face. "Now, you will need to be strong. Everything and everyone will be new, and you will surrounded by very important people." Sifs' eyes widened at that, and Heimdall chuckled. "Just be yourself. They will love you fine."

Turning her around swiftly, her gown twirling at her feet, he set her towards the royal carriage holding her things and the Queen.

Gathering her courage, she sucked up her tears and walked forward. She would be strong. She would be strong for her brother, and she would make him proud.


	3. Silhouette

Sif laid on her back, blonde curling splayed around her as she gazed at the ceiling above her. She had moved into her new chambers a few days ago, and was allowed freetime to settle into everything before starting lessons. She sat up and swung her feet off the bed before gazing outside her balcony, the rain falling hard and preventing her from going and exploring the gardens like she intended to that day.

Her chambers were exquisite, and certainly much to large for her. The bed was a king size, with a maroon tulle canopy floating around it from the ceiling. It intimidated her.

"Hmph."

Setting out to the hallway, she aimlessly wandered, while admiring her new home. The wing of the Palace she was in was apparently the one the Princes were in as well. She had heard them after their lessons, but had yet to see one.

Sauntering along the hallways, she clasped her hands around her back. Every time she passed one of the Einherjar standing their post, Sif would slow her pace, and admire the fierceness in the men's eyes, along with their accompanying weapons. She would ask about them later.

As she was passing one room, she heard the cold clash of steel that set her heart running faster. Peeking in the doorway, she caught a glimpse of a boy a little older than her with hair that matched hers training with another boy. Running her glance across the room, her eyes fell on a table of laid out daggers and other small weapons that was conveniently right next to do the door. As she was reaching out to examine the particular dagger she liked, a small hand clasped around her wrist.

"You don't want to do that."

Whirling around, Sif stared with wide eyes at the boy in front of her. Glancing backwards to make sure no one had seen her, she dragged the boy out of eyesight before meeting his gaze again.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"You were going to steal."

"No I wasn't."

"Why else were you sneaking?"

"You're sneaking."

"Hm."

The boy frowned, and Sif couldn't help but snicker at him. Even though he was taller than her, he couldn't have been much older. Black shiny hair was combed neatly to the nape of his neck, and emerald green eyes gazed shyly at her. He was pale. Did he ever even go outside? Rubbing his hands together as Sif openly examined him, he gave a sigh of exasperation.

"My name is Loki, since you're obviously curious," his back straightened slightly, "and I'm the Prince."

Sif raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "The Prince? I thought there was two of you."

Shifting his feet uncomfortably, his gaze flickered to boys training. "Well - yes."

Sif turned back around, watching again the boys trade blows. It was obvious which one was the other Prince; the blond one carried himself much more confidentially than his sparring partner. Not only that, he was good. Squinting, Sif tried to find a resemblance between the boy here and Loki.

Loki huffed out a breath, "We are related, we just don't look alike. Or act alike. Or eat alike." His face scrunched up like he had bitten into something sour.

Sif carelessly raised and lowered a shoulder. "Neither do me and my brother. He's -"

"Heimdall. I know." Loki interrupted.

Her eyebrows knit together, but before she could say anything, a voice called from the room. "Loki! I need your help with something."

Annoyance spread across his feature, and she smiled at him apologetically, taking the cue to head back to her room.

...

She ate alone that night with Frigga, intently questioning the Queen on the Einherjar and sparring room. Patiently Frigg explained what she could to the girl, which only fed Sif's curiosity.

After retiring to her room, she stopped, and looked back to her dresser. On it, was the dagger she had been eyeing; It was ornate, with swirls and a single ruby gemstone on the end of the hilt. Easily it fit in her hand, and she gave a giggle as she poorly mimicked the stances she had witnessed earlier.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the silhouette of a small figure, but by the time she looked, it was gone. A small smile formed on her lips.

She was going to like it here.


	4. The Foam

Miles away, the storm was still raging violently, tossing the waves to and fro.

One wave in particular hit the sand violently, causing the foam to splash in all directions, but it was different than the others; The individual droplets, instead of coming back down and washing into the sea, melded together to form the maiden Jarnsaxa.

Gracefully, she took slow, purpose-filled steps towards the rocks polished smooth up ahead. Her body was dangerously thin, but there was no question; She was beautiful, in an ethereal way. Shockingly white hair tumbled in soft curls over her shoulders and down her back. A thin, white spaghetti-strapped dress hung from her skeletal frame, dragging in the wet sand behind her as continued forward.

Stumbling, she crawled onto the rocks and laid there, facing Asgard. An expression of longing washed over her features. Jarnsaxa was not of the same psychological makeup as her sisters. Giving up Sif had been the hardest thing she had ever done, and it had only been done by the insistence of her sisters. Soulful eyes turned toward the sky, the bifrost in particular.

Unearthly wails escaped from her throat, over and over, lost in sound of crashing thunder and lightning. Mourning her daughter, and the man she had a future with, Jarnsaxa the Sea Maiden laid her head down on her arms and cried until morn.


	5. The Show

Many times more in the coming years Sif found herself in the company of the younger prince. Thor was often trained harder and longer than Loki needed to be, given his age, so Loki was given time to waste with the wheat-haired girl. While Sif enjoyed the company of others, just as Volstagg, who she was her choice of dinner companion, there was no pressure with Loki. Not that Sif was easily pressured by others.

The knife, which had been gifted to her by Loki, was kept secret, hidden away in a (Sif-made) sheath under her dress. As it had been made for small hands, Sif had long outgrown it and now used it to cut threads and the like. The blade was dirty, but she always kept it diligently clean, taking special care to remove dirt around the setting of the maroon stone. Once, she had even went so far as to cut her own hair with the dagger, earning herself a fierce scolding from her handmaiden Dagmar, who, upon sight of the floor around Sif littered with golden curls, had promptly turned red and nearly burst a vein in her forehead.

She always knew it was Loki who had given it to her, but she didn't care. Never had she mentioned it to the boy, and neither had he expected any gratuity. It was this kind of easy feeling between them that made the friendship such a pleasure.

Most of the time.

Days were often spent together silently, out by Sif's favorite riverbank, no matter how much times Loki complained in his pre-adolescent whine that he never got to decide.

"I'm the girl, I choose," was Sif's customary reply, which had always earned a snort from Loki. With a crinkle of his nose and the hint of a teasing smile on his lips, he would reply,

"Not a very good one."

And it was true. Well, in the typical sense of the word. Neither in healing nor in needlework was Sif proficient. She was able to handle a needle well enough to mend the many holes that inevitably found themselves on the elbows of her dresses, and could disinfect the scrapes and cuts that sprinkled across her face and arms. It was often that she found herself being the object of silent judgement as she sat down to feast with a smudge of blood under her eye, or even a tad of mud staining the bottom of her skirts. The latter was a rare occasion, however, seeing as Sif had always felt comfortable enough around her companion to shed her outer layers and simply wear leggings.

What they did together was something of a variable routine; Always Loki would sit under a tree on the bank, with knitted brows and thin lips silently reciting a spell from the book laid in front of him, while Sif would hunt, or take long swims in the lake. Recently, more and more often Sif would see flashes of green light from the corner of her eye, with Loki sporting a triumphant grin. On those days, spirits were calm, and peaceful; and returns to the palace did not raise suspicions.

Other times, not so much.

It was one of these "other times" that Sif first picked up a spear. Loki had caught sight of her trying to stab a fish with her dagger, frantically pouncing and splashing to get close enough to the shimmering thing she wanted to call dinner. Putting his face in his hands, he sighed before getting up and disappearing into the woods, only come out a short time later with a long stick.

Sif barely paid notice.

Next he waded into the waters, meticulously searching in the waves at his feet, until he retrieved a rock made smooth by the waters and sat back down under his tree.

With raised eyebrows and a look that said he had all the patience in the world, he placed the stick and stone by his side and went back to reading his book.

Now he had Sif's attention.

Plopping down in front of him, Sif sat cross legged and waited for an explanation. Loki simply peered over his book.

No explanation came.

With a groan, she laid back and let the sun bathe her face. Sif was just fine to let Loki stew in his own juices by not giving him the attention he was asking for.

Finally, the book slammed shut and Loki scowled. A small smirk played on Sif's lips.

"I am trying," He spat, "to help you!"

"Then go back to being quiet so I can nap."

A short moment of silence before Sif was splashed in the face with cold water. She gasped and sat straight up to see Loki with arms crossed on his chest, and a small bucket at his feet, which quickly vanished to thin air with the quick telltale flick of green.

"You..." Eyes narrowed and jaw set, Sif huffed and sat up, "Everything is a show with you! You can't just offer help like a normal person! No, you have to make a production, and...and play mind games."

An eyebrow arched, "I wasn't playing mind games. I was simply waiting for you to express interest in what I had to show you."

Sif emitted a very unladylike snort, "Perhaps, but not before some sick game of 'master of wills'. With a sigh, she shook her head with defeat. If someone didn't end this, they could go on for _hours._ "And what was it you were trying to show me?"

Nodding to the dagger laying beside her, Loki held out a hand.

Sif was tempted to throw it.

Tentatively, she placed it in Loki's hand. Taking the stone in one hand, he began to chip off small pieces to create a point.

Holding out the product in his hand, he said "Here. You finish it."

Sif quietly obeyed, intrigued in their new project. When it was done and she held a new blade in her hand, her face lit up, but then quickly fell into a frown.

"Why do I need this? I already have a dag-"

Her eyes fell on the stick held in Loki's lap, and she grinned excitedly. Tearing off several long strips from her dress, she earned herself a skeptic look from the Prince.

With a shrug, she continued her business. The dress was a horrible lilac.

After about an hour of trial and error, she had fashioned herself a very rough - but mildly efficient - spear.

Grinning with glee, she ran back to the shore and grew very still. A few moments later, Sif was returning to Loki, fish in hand.

Attempting a failed curtsy as Loki clapped on, she threw her head back and laughed.

"Yes, I know, I'm pretty amazing. Can you spear a fish like this? I don't think so."

With a flash of green, the fish disappeared from Sif's hand and reappeared in Loki's open palms.

"Hey!"

She swiftly brought the pointy end of the spear to Loki's throat. A look of panic spread across his face.

"Relax, you think I'm going to intentionally spear you?"

"Intentionally?...No."

With a laugh, she threw aside the spear and shoved the Prince into the waters, but not before he grabbed her hand to pull her in with him.


End file.
